Hotter'n Blue Blazes
by tearsofamiko
Summary: Summer of Love challenge prompt on jim and bones: "  porch swing/hammock love"


Title: Hotter'n Blue Blazes

Author: Tearsofamiko

Character(s): Jim Kirk / Leonard McCoy

Rating: R (holy crap, Batman, Tears wrote 'R'!)

Disclaimer: I own nothing about _Star Trek (2009)_, its plotlines or characters, including any recognizable dialogue.

Summary: Summer of Love challenge prompt on jim_and_bones: "porch swing/hammock love"

.:::.

With his eyes closed, he can hear the cicadas buzzing in the trees, can just barely make out the sound of the occasional 'car out on the road or the hum of the house's cooling system. The sun is a tangible presence against his skin, warm and liquid and lulling, heavy as a blanket and so perfectly welcome after a year in space. He doesn't even mind the humidity so much, that unchanging facet of Georgia's summer months just another familiarity that grounds him to the moment. He smiles softly and shifts a little, crossing one ankle over the other, feeling the comforting sway of the hammock soothe him closer to sleep.

Floating gently in that place just shy of waking, he feels Jim step out onto the porch, can visualize the look on the kid's face. Halfway across the yard, hidden in shadows and those blue eyes still trace patterns of live fire across his skin – Jim's gaze has always had an ethereal quality, has always been as palpable as a touch when it focuses solely, keenly on Leonard. The sun-baked grass crunches underfoot as Jim crosses the yard, bringing the smell of water and sunshine with him, bright as the light through Len's eyelids. There's a space of time filled only with the sound of Georgia's summer and Jim's breathing, long enough that Len starts to wonder if he's dreaming Jim's presence. Then the hammock dips and swings, the woven net of knots creaking under the addition of Jim's weight as he settles in at Leonard's side, skin hot and sticky against skin where t-shirts have ridden up and shins tangle with shins.

"'S'nice here," Jim mumbles against Len's bicep. Len shifts, tugging his arm out from under Jim to wrap it around the kid's shoulders, pulling him in closer, tighter despite the heat, eyes still closed.

"No place better'n Georgia," Len replies, the words mushy and barely intelligible through his sleepy Southern accent. Jim hums in response, the sound vibrating against Len's side and through his body, igniting a whole different kind of heat under his skin. Opening his eyes, he peers up into the blue-white sky, trying to remember where Joanna was and how long she'd been there – a trip for ice cream and to the local pool with Jocelyn and Clay, not home until after suppertime. Which means they have the house to themselves.

He scritches his fingers through Jim's hair, feels the sudden full-body shiver roll through Jim, the way his actions have an instant, equal reaction. Jim arches against him, shifting up and closer, still wrapped in Len's arm, until he can taste the sweat-salty skin under Len's ear, blunt fingernails tracing the muscles under Len's Ole Miss t-shirt. Bare toes trail up Len's calf as Jim's hand moves steadily north under Len's t-shirt, plucking at flat nipples as Jim continues to nuzzle at Len's neck, licking and kissing and biting at the tendons and muscles pulling taut under his skin. Eyes fluttering shut again, Len moans, one hand tightening reflexively in Jim's hair as the other tangles in the knots of the hammock's webbing, his hips lurching as Jim closes his lips around Len's earlobe. The hammock sways with their movements, the ropes creaking as Jim shifts to lie atop Leonard, straddling one leg as he shoves at the clinging cotton of Len's t-shirt. They rut against each other as Jim mouths at Leonard's Adam's apple, Len throwing his head back to allow for better access.

The air has condensed hot and heavy against their skin, concentrated in the meager space between their bodies. Trading breaths, Len curls his fingers in the hem of Jim's t-shirt and tugs, wanting more skin, more contact, moremoremore of _every_thing, while blue eyes blaze bright as flame above him. Jim straightens and replaces Len's hands with his, pulling the t-shirt up and off, toes curled in the hammock's weave for balance. Swinging the shirt off his hand, Jim leans down at the same time that Len leans up, intending to pick up where they'd left off as Len's hands settle at the waist of Jim's shorts.

They're almost there, noses barely brushing, when the shirt finally flies off Jim's fist and the hammock's equilibrium abruptly shifts. They land in a heap under the hammock, knees and elbows landing in all sorts of soft places they weren't meant to go.

"Fucking, God dammit, Jim-" Len barks, wincing as he rolls off Jim, braced on his right arm with his left arm curled around his stomach, trying to mitigate the ache caused by Jim's bony elbow. "Goddamn kid tryin' t'get fresh in a Goddamn _hammock_, what sorta idiot tries _that_," he grumbles, conveniently glossing over how _he_ started the whole thing for the purpose of the whole rant. God_damn_ but his gut _hurts_.

He glares over at Jim, eyebrows drawing together as he realizes the kid's curled in on himself, arms wrapped low on his abdomen and knees drawn up almost to his chin. "Jim?" he asks, mildly concerned though mostly more annoyed at Jim's sheer boniness. There's no response, not even when Len pokes at the kid's back, jabbing close to the armpit, an area that usually produces an indignant squawk and amused mock-glares. He's starting to get worried when he notices Jim's shoulders are shaking. Crawling over, he shoves on Jim's left shoulder, rolling him over to where he can finally see the kid's face.

He's _laughing_, giggling like a child, eyes glowing with mirth and tears of amusement. At Len's thunderous eyebrow, he snorts and rolls back on his side, chortling and choking on laughter. Len sits back on his haunches and just shakes his head, palms flat on his thighs and shorts pulled tight across his hips and backside. Jim peeks another look at him and lets loose another peal of snorting chuckles.

"What'n sam hell were you thinkin'?"

"S-sorry, Bones!" Jim gasps, propping himself up on his elbows, still giggling. "You're gonna hafta give me a minute or two to recover – you kneed me in the crotch when we fell. I'm kinda _pfft_-!" He snorts at whatever look is on Len's face and Len rolls his eyes, a smile creeping at the corners of his mouth at Jim's amusement with the situation, injuries and all.

"Infant," Len mutters, grumbling to keep up appearances as he moves to get to his feet. Jim's hand shoots out and wraps around the back of Len's neck, hauling him forward and overbalancing him until he lands on Jim again, this time stretched out flat on the ground. Another tug and Jim's licked his way into Len's mouth, still smiling, until Len can't help but smile back.

When he pulls back, Jim's eying the hammock, a speculative glint in his blue eyes. Leonard immediately knows what Jim's planning and forestalls it with a swift swat to the back of Jim's head.

"What the hell?" Jim whines petulantly, glaring at Leonard as he rubs his head.

"No."

"But, Bones, it's a _hammock_. I've never done it in a hammock before and I wanna-"

Len swats at Jim again, eyebrow cocked and glaring as the kid flails back. "_No_, Jim."

"But-!"

Leonard cuts off that avenue of discussion and promptly sets about convincing the kid that the yard works just as well as the hammock, to which Jim enthusiastically allows himself to be persuaded. And the way Jim looked in the hot Georgia sunlight, wanton and loose and so completely _Len's_, well, Len figures it's well worth the grass-stains on his knees and the mosquito bite in the small of his back.

_Well_ worth it.


End file.
